


busy being yours

by Makisol



Series: Delta [1]
Category: League of Legends
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Cuddling, Drinking, Emotional Hurt, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, Lots of Feelings dear god, M/M, Mutual Pining, Porn with Feelings, Selective Mute Aphelios, Sett centric, Sleeping Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:28:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22774924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makisol/pseuds/Makisol
Summary: Believing in fate is for losers. Sett doesn’t rely in the unclear call of the stars when it comes to the future. Yet, when Aphelios’ eyes wander away from him, he prays to the sky again and again; let this man bemeantto be held by his arms.
Relationships: Aphelios/Sett (League of Legends)
Series: Delta [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1935868
Comments: 50
Kudos: 386





	busy being yours

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be just pwp how did this become 10k long lmao
> 
> **edit:** The reception this story has gotten over the past months has left me speechless. Thanks y'all so much for your comments and your support!!  
> I'm very humbled by it and I honestly don't know how else to thank you except by writing the sequel you've asked so kindly of me! Some of you that follow me on twitter know that I've been on it for quite a while haha.  
> Because of that I have revised this story again and fixed some minor mistakes! Thank you all again, I know that I haven't replied to some of you but I read your comments all the time to hype me up!

There’s a small sting of anxiety under Sett’s ribs as he enters the tavern. It’s a familiar place. He’s been here before, back when he was still punching his way up the ladder in the fighting pits. After a long day of work, he used to come here with the friends he made in the arena. Good foes and rivals that proved their strength in battle. Strangers who admired him; people from all backgrounds and lifestyles.

He used to have a full table. Now, as the title of _The Boss_ sits on his shoulders, the stares of some and the low-key glances of others make his presence all the more obvious. And not in a good way. But if anybody here has a single cell of self-preservation, they won’t try to look for a fight. However, Sett knows there are plenty of fools to spare. Which is why he avoids coming here as often as he used to. Besides, all the _friends_ he had are either missing or dead. This is an unforgiving business after all.

With not a single valuable reason to come here, he can’t fight the force that pulls him. To wander inside the dirty floors of this place. A cold breeze. Shivers that make the hair on his body stand on its end, an unmistakable energy that invites him with a sweet scent. His ears perk up to unusual sounds around him, but nothing gets his attention. He’s not expecting to be guided towards _him._ Sitting on a stool at the far corner of the bar, the shape of his back is distinct. His figure catches your eye in an instant, with the foreign robes and wide shoulders that make his lean body all the more intimidating.

It’s an isolated shape that lures Sett without objecting. He makes a bee-line for him, wanting nothing but to see his face—after _so long—_ and thanks the chills of the night for bringing him here, despite his initial skepticism. 

He prepares a charming smile before he talks, “I knew there was somethin’ that smelled too nice for this shit-hole.” He takes the free seat at his left side and Aphelios’ impassive face looks back at him.

His eyes hold no malice, but the cold in them is biting. He looks a little more tired than usual. Sett looks up, hoping to see the kind smile of his sister but he sees no wandering spirit. The lack of Alune’s protective shadow above him implies the poison must be out; he looks at Aphelios’ glass and wonders if he drinks to wash away the taste.

“What’cha doin’ here?” Sett asks with genuine curiosity, a smirk halfway up. “This ain’t a place for the likes of you.”

Aphelios rises a dubious eyebrow, Sett’s eyes drift towards the drink he leaves on top of the bar as his hands rise along his chest.

_Staying at Inn,_ he signs with deft fingers. _Here is the cheapest fee._

“What?” He frowns, hurt by the implications of that. “I’m sure I can offer something just as cheap, _and_ better.” He chuckles, but he finds nothing funny about it. There’s a punch to his pride, knowing that Aphelios chose this garbage-looking place instead of reaching to him. 

Aphelios shakes his head. _Too tired to fight,_ he signs and the dark circles under his eyes are evidence enough. He also thinks that’s stupid when they’ve worked together in the past many times; in the end they always reach an agreement that benefits both of them.

Sett smiles. “Now, now, I know we got a deal but I’m a flexible guy,” he says while tilting his body towards him. A cunning smile on his lips. “There are other ways to pay for my services,” and he can’t resist the urge to wink.

If this doesn’t seal the deal— _Sorry,_ signs Aphelios with a small purse of his lips. _Not enough cash. I only use money for emergencies._

A flirty comeback goes back down Sett’s throat, knowing that the joke—and hidden implications—fly over Aphelios’ head by a mile. He wonders if it’s Aphelios being dense or just trying to stay professional. If it’s the latter, he wouldn’t mind having him cross the line from time to time.

Aphelios is a simple guy, though; Sett’s grateful for that. Despite being far from an open book, he likes how easy it is to deal with him. In both work and personal matters, he’s always honest and direct to the point. Sett doesn’t have to worry about hidden motives. He doesn’t worry about a liar or a backstabbing traitor. He knows the day Aphelios doesn’t want to hold his end of the deal, he’ll just tell him. And so, Sett can always feel at ease in his presence. He likes that. A lot.

His quietness, regardless of being a consequence of his connection with Alune, it’s perceived in his actions. The way he sits around his office trying to take as little space as possible. His almost-invisible pout when his clothes are ruined in the pit. It’s his rare smile when Sett makes Alune laugh. It’s the gleam of his eyes at the sight of his sister; a feeling he shares, the one of caring deeply for family.

It’s how easy he’s on the eyes. Of the gracefulness of his combat. Of the sincerity of his opinions.

So, yes, he likes that.

_A lot._

Which explains why he loves being pulled into his orbit, he dreams of holding this man tonight—and has for many nights before this one. To have the privilege of his affection.

“What will it be, sir?” Says the voice of an outsider and his ears perk up at the noise instantly. He’s woken up from his fantasy and remembers that he’s sitting in a shitty tavern, in front of an exhausted bartender. Next to a beautiful man.

Aphelios signs again. _Do you want anything?_

“If ya’ let _me_ pay, sure.” He smiles. “You low on money, right? Let me treat you.”

Aphelios agrees without arguing and Sett grins victoriously when he wins so easily, knowing he can spoil his friend with anything he asks. The perks of handling a profiting business, right? Yet, he pretends not to be surprised when Aphelios being the way he is, just orders another glass of some cheap Ionian _sake._ Sett _could_ ask for something else, but ultimately decides to fancy his partner and drinks the same thing.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Aphelios reach for his glass again when he stops mid-motion. Sett spins his head slightly to look at him and Aphelios has his hands moving yet again.

_And what are_ you _doing here?_ One finger digs softly on the bandages of his forearm when he addresses him. _This is no place for the likes of you._

Sett isn’t ready to answer that mirrored question, even when it’s not surprising that the conversation was headed there in the first place. He knows how odd it is to find him here, especially to Aphelios’ keen eye. Sett knows that he’s perceptive, even to things Sett doesn’t notice about himself. Another detail added to the list of things he loves about him.

“Wind dragged me in, I guess.” He raises his glass, holding it under his lips. “Used to be here a lot, back when I was a nobody.”

He empties it in one gulp. Aphelios’ face glows with interest. He doesn’t push the topic but it’s crystal-clear that he’s at least _a little_ curious about it.

Sett decides he can indulge him with one of the things he does best. Talk shit.

Throughout the night, the bartender keeps filling their glasses until they’ve taken almost seven shots between the two of them. Sett isn’t a fan of drinking outside of the privacy of his home or his box seat in the pit. It’s often the way he got into fights he _did_ regret, by punching people who didn’t deserve it or by getting his ass kicked because of how drunk he was. Alcohol either made him problematic or absolutely incompetent.

Sharing drinks with Aphelios proved to be another experience, he finds out. He makes it lighter, easier to ignore the accidental pushes from other drunks or the temptation to break someone’s face. Sett’s conversation flows like second nature. He talks about mundane things: stories from his past, people he’s met and exciting fights he’s won. About nothing trascendental like new competitors, new staff; the best days the till has seen; his mother’s job or what new hobbies she’s gotten into recently. None of these things interests Aphelios deeply but he’s a polite man, so he listens attentively replying with hums or nods.

Even when Sett’s talking about things that seem absolutely stupid to tell someone—like the one time he fell asleep in the office doing paperwork—Aphelios’ attention never wavers. Their eyes are locked into each other’s, his faint reactions fuelling his mouth to keep babbling. In the middle of it, he sees a smile and he’s not that inebriated to be imagining things. It disappears as quickly as it came to view and Sett wonders if he can make _him_ laugh, too.

He doesn’t realize that alcohol makes him touchy—or is it a side-effect from the company he has?—until his hands feel Aphelios’ body during their conversation. Sometimes Sett swears a caress over his back is what’ll get him a slap or a push, but the rejection never comes. He gets away with it every time. A ghostly rub over his hands or a pat in the shoulder; a caress on his cheek or a tap in his thigh. They’re meant to be friendly and he hopes Aphelios doesn’t think anything of it. But oh, those lingering fingers around his waist as he tells yet another joke, betray the feelings beating down inside his chest.

Their chairs are close, _closer_ than he remembers. His eyes are getting a little glossy, Aphelios looks down at his lips—twice—and it might be time to stop drinking. He might be having some adulterated visions of reality by the looks of it.

Sett realizes too late that Aphelios’ signed something, it’s a little too fast for him to understand.

“What was that, doll?” The words are slurred around and the pet name escapes him without meaning to.

Aphelios doesn’t seem to mind, so he signs it again but Sett only understands the first word. _You—;_ the rest of it is missed completely.

“No idea what you’re sayin’.” He moves closer to him. The stench of the bar becomes a lot more bearable when Aphelios’ fragrance is mixing with it.

He lowers his hands and shakes his head, and waves a dismissive hand. _Forget it,_ he signs.

“No.” Sett crouches further down. He won’t lie that he’s surprised of how commanding that word came out. His body leans in Aphelios’ personal space and he whispers in the air between them, heavy with liquor, “ _Teach me._ ”

Without a single flinch, Aphelios stares at him. He isn’t frightened by it, on the contrary, his eyes glimmer with something. Something new. Sett grins when Aphelios rises his hands again, signing slowly as his lips mouth the words.

_You._

“‘Me’. Yeah, that one’s easy.” His smirk only gets him a nod.

He signs again, a lot slower so Sett can read his lips and watch his hands.

“‘Good’,” he repeats after him. “Right?” Another nod.

The final word isn’t tricky—he already knows it—and just needed to watch the motion a lot slower to translate it. He doesn’t tell him that, though. Watching Aphelios’ lips move like that is also as entertaining, but the term is clear as water.

It’s _‘Company’._

_You’re good company._ It’s a simple sentence, that had it been said by someone else, Sett would’ve thought nothing of it and moved on. But this wasn’t just _anybody._ Aphelios had a particular power over him. He preens at the compliment, he doesn’t want to pass an opportunity to be praised, but he wants to take a different approach to this.

“What? Didn’t get that one.” So, he tries as hard as he can to pretend he’s clueless.

Hands sign again. Aphelios repeats the word with his voiceless mouth a little slower. _Company._

Sett grins. “Mm, ‘somebody’?” he asks.

Aphelios shakes his head. His hands move up and down a little harder. He tries again, with the patience of a saint. _Com-pa-ny,_ he says. 

Sett stares at his lips with guilty pleasure, wondering if Aphelios’ tattoos are done with special inks. Is it cruel to take advantage of a situation like this to admire him?

“Climber.” The first word that comes to his head. Aphelios frowns and squints, the most expressive he’s seen him the whole time he’s known him. He’s absolutely unaware of Sett’s stupid prank. “Or maybe you meant ‘good looking’, yeah? Or funny, strong, handsome—am I right?”

Aphelios blushes.

He fucking blushes. Sett only can only behold that sight for a second before his face looks away in a fast whirl. He can see his shoulders shaking, his ears arch forward at the sound of a breathy laugh somewhere. A playful elbow knocks softly at his ribs. Okay, so he knows now he was being mocked.

A chuckle leaves Sett for the hundredth time that night and they laugh together.

He repeats the _real_ words in his head again and he feels proud. He’s learned most of his sign language from Aphelios, mostly when his sister would translate for him. Her spirit was fluent in it as much as her brother and they both would get in long conversations only by using it. Sett got fed up with staying out of the loop and asked Alune to teach him. After that, Sett’s been doing the homework by himself—not that he’d tell anybody—but _company_ was a word he learned on his own.

He never thought he’d use it, alas, Aphelios had a knack of surprising him ever since their first meeting.

He looks over to Aphelios and he’s already staring. Soft eyes and a tiny smile on his face, Sett can’t believe this is the same man that has been coming to his office; cold-blooded gaze that only seeks information. Beating fighters in the pits over and over again, without a single tremble of his hand.

Does he know what he’s doing to him?

“Aren’t you a sweetheart.” Sett doesn’t expect an answer. He smiles broadly and his stroked ego gives him a boost of confidence. “I also enjoy my time with you.”

The smile on Aphelios’ face feels just as intoxicating as the alcohol. It makes him bolder.

He lifts a daring hand to push Aphelios’ fringe away. His hands are careful when he uses his fingers to place it behind his ear. He thinks he’s made a stupid decision but Aphelios doesn’t move a finger and just stares back. His smile hasn’t gone away, maybe his blush has gone darker. Sett knows that if there’s any _perfect_ moment in the entire world to kiss him, this is _it._

He reaches into his pocket, instead. He laughs with nerves on edge, looking away.

Sett would never dare. Aphelios isn’t that kind of man, right?

While counting the money he’s going to pay with, the bartender reaches their spot and waits. 

“Say, you don’t have to stay here.” It’s a whisper, like a forbidden topic he isn’t supposed to talk about. When the money's gone from his hands, he takes a peek at Aphelios’ face.

He’s looking back, curious.

“I have a place nearby. One of many, you know? It’s absolutely safe.” He sees the conflicting emotions running through his face.

Shaking his head, Aphelios signs, _No money._

Sett’s having none of that. “You don’t have to pay nothin’, Phel.” The name slips out, this time, absolutely intentional. “Consider it on the house, for bein’ such a loyal partner to my business.”

That seems to convince him a little. Sett can see the gears turning in his head as he chews that around; without his sister, Aphelios is way easier to talk into things. Another one for the books.

_Okay,_ he signs. His hands are starting to lose their pace and he wonders if it’s because of the drinks. _You’re very kind._

A deep chuckle rumbles on his chest. “You kinda growin’ on me, keep that up and I’ll start falling for you.”

It’s meant to be a joke—or not, if he’s brave enough to admit that he’s already crashing head down—but he doesn’t miss Aphelios’ blank demeanor change into surprise in the blink of an eye. He shakes his head in disapproval and stands up in a quick swoop. He takes a bag from the ground, small and worn-out. He means to hang it from a shoulder, but Sett catches it in his hand and carries it for him. Aphelios lets him with a relieved sigh. Sett follows him closely behind until they both make their way out of the tavern.

The smell of fresh air is welcomed by both of them, a long sigh of satisfaction comically synchronised makes puffs of warm breath. Sett starts walking without saying anything, knowing Aphelios will follow his lead. A cold night, he looks up but the sky is clear and he can see every little white star shining. Yet, something keeps telling him to hurry.

During their walk, Sett talks more about trivial things. Places they pass by; things that remind him of new tales to tell. Just as before, this conversation isn’t something he’ll remember tomorrow with interest. The hand that Aphelios locks around his forearm will, though. The hold is very delicate, like he’s ready to let go in case Sett decides to hit him for it. They keep walking while Sett’s stories make them company, like nothing is unusual, like this is something that comes naturally to them; Aphelios’ attention—like always, _like always—_ stays on him, unmoving.

Aphelios doesn’t look away even when Sett clasps their hands together instead. Their bodies collide more often like this and their shoulders brush; Aphelios is a few inches shorter than him, which explains why he feels his leather shoulder pads jab midway down his bicep every time they crash into each other. But Aphelios’ laugh and slight skipping feet makes him forget about it.

It’s the looks they share. The shy smiles. It’s the lingering intoxication that makes their steps unbalanced and their connected hands so warm. Sett knows he’s not imagining it now, the unspoken desire; a bond thick like honey.

They arrive at the entrance of a property surrounded by high brick walls. It’s down the path down a mountain and all the nearby neighbors have homes equally as big, if not bigger. An average home that doesn’t attract attention but it’s fancy enough to blend in. Another rich house in a rich area. 

His ears flap towards a murmur on the other side of the door as he knocks on it.

Two of his men welcome him inside, he feels the strain in Aphelios’ fingers and he lets go as soon as the looks of two strangers are on them. Sett knows better than to take it personally, but he misses the cozy warmth of their hold. He distracts himself by greeting his lackeys and moves quickly to the entrance of the house with Aphelios in tow. If they assume anything from the two of them, they don’t mention it.

The pale yellow lanterns around the yard cast their shadows in every direction, as they walk, he hears the sound of their feet crushing the dirt beneath them. They reach the front door of the empty house and Sett’s mouth seems to have run out of words to say, his head keeps tumbling as he finds a proper way to say goodbye. Aphelios looks at him, as if he was anticipating something.

It starts raining—wasn’t the sky clear just seconds ago?—and the drops turn heavy in the short time they’ve been standing under the porch, completely dry. Even as Sett opens the door for him, there aren’t any words leaving his mouth. Aphelios steps forward with a slow stride, quiet.

He sees a spotlight behind Aphelios’ frame, illuminating his silhouette as if he was an ethereal being out from this world. The moon’s light doesn’t get any dimmer, even when it keeps raining. He doesn’t really believe in cosmic signs, but he feels someone is trying to tell him something.

Yet, he’s thinking about how he’s going to get back home, or if he should sleep on the couch and let Aphelios take the main bedroom. He’s definitely not thinking about how close Aphelios is to him; how he looks around nervously behind him, like making sure no one’s looking; how his body presses tenderly and his hands reach to his cheeks. Oh, but Sett’s mind is all about the man he’s kissing when Aphelios presses their mouths together.

It’s a soft peck. An unsure brush of lips that quickly becomes a second, and a third, and suddenly Sett is kissing back with the same hunger. His body reacts out of instinct, his head still catching up to the idea of what’s happening. Heart stops in his chest, the air stuck in his lungs; his hand grips the knob and the other stays mid-air, uncertain of where to put it.

Aphelios guides him with patience. He kisses him unhurried, taking his hands around his waist. They part for a second; a second Sett’s brain can think again.

“What’s gotten into you?” he asks with genuine concern. He ain’t confusing him with someone else right? Aphelios isn’t that drunk.

Aphelios moves away an inch, enough that his hands fit between them. _You wanted another way,_ he signs, licking his lips in a quick blink, _to pay for services._

Sett’s mouth is left agape.

_Very—_ he stops and signs again, _That place—,_ his hands are clumsy, he frowns and squeezes his eyes shut. _You know—_

Sett wraps his hands around Aphelios’ and presses them to his chest. “Don’t sweat it.”

Letting his hands free again, they cling to Sett’s neck in a tight embrace and he doesn’t waste one single second returning to what he was doing. Sett moans into the kiss with satisfaction. Turns out, Aphelios was neither dense nor trying to be professional. He was just shy.

The rain gets stronger and the droplets start wetting their feet, as if trying to usher them inside the house. Sett pushes Aphelios towards the door as their kiss gets eager, impatient; their tongues are too excited to taste. Aphelios is a good kisser— _of course_ he was going to be—and Sett becomes pliant in his hold. He drags a hand across Aphelios’ back and rests it over his waist, guiding him further into the house until the dimmed lights of the outside can’t reach their bodies. Aphelios’ feet slide along his steps and eventually they stumble into the entryway. The texture in Aphelios’ gloves is soft velvet, as his hands take turns into pulling him into the kiss and twirling his fingers in his hair.

He tastes like sake, Sett notices. He also tastes sweet, oddly so, not something he’s ever savored in anyone else. His head being the mess of things it is, doesn’t find a proper explanation in time. With their lips clashing hungrier with every brush, the wandering thought that crashes right into the walls of his mind, doesn’t even process until Aphelios is already sneaking his hands under his coat. His eyes shot open when he realizes it’s the noctum poison.

It’s like someone shot him awake from a dream. What he’s doing and with _who._ Under _what_ circumstances Aphelios has agreed to do this with him, _and_ what kind of opportunist _jerk_ will Aphelios think he is? His past-self would’ve kicked his ass if he knew what Sett was about to do now, but his nagging moral side—and sober one—begged him to put a stop to this.

“Hey—hey, hey,” he says between pecks, but Aphelios’ mouth chasing his own doesn’t let him take a break. Ultimately he has to push him away, gently, with a hand still resting on his hips. It’s intimate, the way they part and their breaths mix together. “I meant it, when I said this was for free. You don’t gotta do this if you don’t wanna.”

The puzzled look in Aphelios lasts for a breath. His eyebrows shoot upwards in surprise and he takes his hands off his neck in a brisk pull. Saying Sett’s stomach nosedives into the underworld is putting it lightly. It creeps back up and on fire when Aphelios’ fingers snake up his belt, unclasping the knot that ties it.

Sett’s hands stop him before he’s done. “Alrigh’, _alrigh’._ ” He looks behind him and towards the still open door. He pushes it closed and making sure there aren’t any peering eyes, he gets feisty just thinking about someone snooping into his business.

He takes a deep breath and he can feel the excitement building up in his gut. A wish come true; a dream he can’t believe is real.

Right when he turns around, Aphelios’ shoes lay neatly next to each other in the genkan, as he steps onto the tatami with socked feet. Sett appreciates the thoughtful gesture and does the same with his shoes, throwing those and his socks somewhere next to Aphelios’ and rushes to grab his hand. Sett interrupts his appreciation of an indoor plant to drag him all over the corridors of the house. His own footsteps are loud and heavy, evident against the wooden floor of the place. Aphelios’ aren’t audible at all; if they are, they’re too quiet to be heard, even by Sett’s sharp ears that flicker around trying to listen.

If he wasn’t holding Aphelios’ hand he wouldn’t know someone’s walking behind him at all. The practiced ease of an assassin like him colds his bones and makes him shiver. He could never hope—or want—to master those stealthy techniques but he can admire them nonetheless.

He’s glad someone like Aphelios isn’t his enemy. First, it’d be an absolute nightmare, and second, this wouldn’t even be happening. What a waste.

The master bedroom is sober, a little too much for Sett’s taste, but it’ll do. They ain’t here to appreciate interior decor. He drops Aphelios’ bag in a random corner, making sure it’s out of the way. He lets Aphelios slide the door close while he turns on a lamp resting atop a nightstand, looking inside the drawers to make sure he’s got stuff here. He must, right? He remembers bringing some random girl with him here, and he’s sure she left her half-empty lubricant behind.

While he’s busy hoping the cleaning staff hasn’t thrown it away, the hit of rain on the roof becomes too loud. He stops at his current task and turns around to make sure Aphelios hasn’t left running.

He stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, looking at one of the paintings hanging on the walls. Sett sneaks behind him—or tries, because he can’t really compete with Aphelios’ sharp perception of his surroundings—and hugs him with both arms around his waist.

“You didn’t drag me all the way here to kill me, right?” Aphelios snorts. “You a little too quiet, do Alune confiscate your tongue when she leaves, too?” His breathy laugh breaks the stillness of the room and Sett congratulates himself for it.

He bows slightly to rub their cheeks together, feeling the muscles in Aphelios’ face shaped in a smile. He kisses his temple and yields his grip as Aphelios turns around in it, his lips finding his neck rather easily. 

His height plays on his favor this time, allowing him to leave wet kisses where he pleases. Sett just bares his neck for him and doesn’t hide the thrilled groan when Aphelios bites delicately at the skin, with careful teeth that won’t leave a mark for tomorrow. Aphelios’ hands come back to his coat once again; this time, they mean to take it off for good. The silk of his gloves touch as much as they want, his long fingers tour along his chest and they scratch tenderly where the hair grows on his pectorals. Sett absolutely adores the attention and he grants Aphelios the permission to do as he desires.

It would be a lie to say Sett expected Aphelios to be this forward. He was always pretty reserved. His emotionless attitude always knocked him off balance and he’ll admit he didn’t like at first. Even with his sister, Aphelios’ demeanor was indifferent. It aroused him to think that Aphelios just needed a little privacy to let himself be vulnerable.

Vulnerable and _horny,_ in this specific scenario.

The thud of his coat falling to the ground is quiet compared to the roaring of the storm outside. To the pulsing of his veins as Aphelios kisses lower, _lower,_ across his pecs, his abdomen and the line of hair that travels down into his navel. Aphelios follows it like a sacred path, until his mouth stumbles upon the edge of his buckle and he looks up with hungry eyes, as his deft fingers undoes it. He pushes the rest of his trousers down with a slow tug but Sett ends up stepping off them and kicking them to the side. Aphelios doesn’t pay mind to that, sinking to his knees as he kisses his way down towards his erection, _thirsty_ for any type of attention.

The chill of the air is replaced by the warmth of his mouth, a sigh is pushed out of his chest. He feels boneless in his grasp and doesn’t fear giving him control over the ongoing situation. Or the future situations, or _all_ situations for all he cares. It’s relaxing to let go for once.

He looks down to the unbelievable view beneath him. Aphelios’ thin lips around him, one of his hands complement the bobbing of his head—when the hell did he take his gloves off—and the other knead his thigh sweetly. He’ll give Aphelios the award to best head he’s ever had so far, and the most interesting to watch, too. He pushes Aphelios’ hair away from his face and their eyes meet for a shameless moment.

His tongue licks at the head and his cheeks hollow— _goddamn._

“Get up, angel,” he says with a torn voice, Aphelios gets up with a smirk and lets Sett pull him close. “Let’s get you off of all this.”

Aphelios undoes the already half-tied belt, while Sett unbuttons the black shirt underneath it. His green coat and scarf join the other clothes on the floor, the shoulder pads clank when they meet the ground. Sett’s hands are clumsy with the intricacies of his attire, but Aphelios suffices that with his own accustomed movements, expertly pulling at everything else.

His clinking necklace falls to the ever-growing pile of garments that seem to be infinite.

“You gonna kill my dick like this,” Sett complains, as he yanks the black, body-tight top up and off his head, sliding it off his arms. “How the hell you gettin’ laid wearing all this junk.”

Aphelios scoffs. _Don’t take it all off,_ he signs. _Not my thing._

Sett’s chest rumbles with a deep laugh and his smile turns sly. “What, are you sayin’ I’m special?”

Aphelios’ face is mellow again. He’s seen that so many times tonight he might get addicted to it.

He signs, _Consider it on the house._ He seems to have a knack for throwing Sett’s own words back at him. His hands stop abruptly when he’s about to say something, and takes two extra seconds to decide he isn’t signing anything else.

Is Sett’s turn to be suspicious, “For what?” He pushes.

But Aphelios says nothing, he takes his hands across Sett’s chest, all the way from his navel to his shoulders and pulls him into another kiss. This is Aphelios’ first secret and Sett wonders if he should be worried about its hidden motives. 

Forgetting is easy, though, when Aphelios is guiding him to the bed with short careful steps between kisses. Sett slips his fingers inside the hem of Aphelios’ skin-tight pants that hug this waist so snuggly, meaning to take them off once and for all. The golden pebbles in his gauntlet keep getting stuck around the seams, so he shakes off his gloves with an intense shake of his hands. He doesn’t mind where they’ve gone off to, or what they bang against. The bandages fall off on their own.

Aphelios sits on the mattress and brings him down, Sett chases his mouth like a starving man.

They slide further into it, across the silky sheets and dozens of pillows. Aphelios pushes Sett back and sits between his legs; in a split second he sinks down with an open mouth. Sett’s finger lifts his chin before he gets occupied again. He can’t stop his hand sneaking down to pick up a torturous speed, though.

Sett’s resolve allows him to ignore it only while he lifts Aphelios’ head.

“You like doin’ that, huh.” It’s just an observation. It seems correct when it earns him a lustful gaze, his parting lips closing.

Aphelios drags his tongue over his upper lip. Slow and _vulgar,_ like he’s got an exquisite dish in front of him. Sett’s hold on his chin weakens at the sight of this, unable to resist that temptation. He lets him do what he wants.

It’s admirable the skill he has. Another _technique_ Sett couldn’t possibly match. It’s not infuriating only because he’s at the receiving end of such expert treatment. He inhales sharply when Aphelios sucks in a favorable angle, he can feel the flesh of his tongue lap greedily at his erection, the grip gets tighter around the base and he feels the heat pooling impossibly low in his navel.

He sits properly this time and Aphelios doesn’t seem troubled by it; he just adjusts his body, laying on his stomach with his knees bent and continues like nothing ever disturbed him. Sett shakes his head slightly, as if attempting to clear it and shoves Aphelios’ hair out of his face again, his raven locks thicker than he thought. His calloused hand strokes his face, and Aphelios hums with content.

Had this been a random fling, Sett would’ve had no problem in leaving it here. Sometimes people would do this for favors—like he intended to convince Aphelios a few hours ago—and even when that proved to be arousing, he knew better now than to play with that venom. There’s something equally rewarding in having someone want him like this. There’s something even more gratifying knowing _that_ person was Aphelios himself. There’s a groan-turned-moan that escapes his throat without meaning to and Aphelios hums again in response.

Sett’s eyes wander to the rest of his body and his still clothed legs are not doing it for him.

He stretched his arm all the way to his ass and the loose hem permits him to slip them inside. Aphelios’ movements dwindle, if only slightly; the reaction he receives as he barely grazes his finger between his ass cheeks is immediate. He clenches his butt and moves it away from his hand. His mouth takes a deep breath as he sits back and his ministrations stop altogether.

Sett raises his hands in surrender, “Sorry,” he mumbles to Aphelios’ averting eyes. “I totally get it if you’re picky.”

Or maybe he doesn’t, because rejection has never been a protagonist in the bedroom for him. That’s the outcome of always having what someone else wants, he guesses. Nobody would ever look at him in the wrong way when they know they can get what they desire if they play nice. Aphelios isn’t like Sett. He isn’t like anybody Sett’s ever had. If he’s critical with his partners, that’s a loss that doesn’t wound him in no way or another.

The rain is loud again.

_Wait,_ he signs.

His eyes are looking again, digging into his soul. A dark gaze that chills his bones, but gives Sett the same hooking adrenaline from a good fight.

The air in the room freezes his skin, he shivers involuntarily when Aphelios leans over again, standing on his knees once again. And like all the times before, he tilts his head to start a kiss. And every single time, Sett is knocked off his feet.

He’s guided again, like a lost dog. The salty taste on Aphelios’ mouth doesn’t bother him like it has with his previous partners, it grounds him. It turns him the _hell_ on, too. A possessive part of him rejoices at the thought of imprinting him like that, and that Aphelios _enjoys_ it. The kiss resembles the hungry one that started this whole mess, even sloppier, when there’s so much skin to touch and so much heat to share. Aphelios’ hands grabs his again, and leads them to his waist down to his butt. Sett feels his hands covering his palms, long fingers on top of each of his own, and giving an encouraging squeeze.

Sett sighs into the kiss, and Aphelios places a hand on his shoulder to keep his balance. They part again as Aphelios scoots over with his knees as Sett _finally_ pushes the hem of his pants down.

They prove to be a strong contender. Aphelios snorts quietly from above him, and weaves his finger through his hair, trying to calm him down. Sett gets impatient nonetheless and growls, irritated, when they seem to be stuck. He pushes Aphelios down to the bed with a hand on his chest. He obeys and lays back with a smug smile. It’s the first time a smile fuels annoyance in his chest.

Sett refuses to be bested by a piece of clothing. He pulls at it again, but he can’t make it yield. There’s a rumble in his throat so unmistakably Vastayan, Aphelios’ eyes widen and watches a little concerned how Sett keeps tugging but can’t get them off.

“I got this,” he whispers to himself.

Lifting a hand, Aphelios reaches out to help him. Sett smacks it away with an annoyed grunt.

“No, I _said_ I can do this.” His stubbornness proves pointless—maybe he could rip them off and get him a new pair later—but he knows deep down that’d be a critical hit to this situation. Aphelios would never forgive him, who knows what the hell they’re made of or where he got them.

The more he pulls, the harder Aphelios grips the sheets to prevent an imminent shove into a wall. It’s on one particular pull that a crease gives away and Sett is pulling the trousers with the force of a killing hit straight towards his chest; he brings with them one of Aphelios’ knees that give him a solid strike on the ribs.

Aphelios gasps horrified. Sett plays it cool, the pain doesn’t even register. He pulls the trousers off completely off his legs triumphantly, sitting back on his heels with a deep frown in his face. He moves his red fringe away with a jerk of his head.

“See, I told ya’ I could do it,” he says, out of breath.

Aphelios laughs.

Irritation be damned, Sett forgets why he even got all worked up. It disappears along Aphelios’ breathy chuckles, his cheeks high on his face and the uneven rise of his chest. He grips his stomach and lays on his side as he tries to hide his face.

Sett puts his hands down next to each side of his head, the mattress dips with his weight. “What?” he asks, feigning innocence. “What’s so funny, sweetheart?”

Aphelios turns his head around and smiles, he takes a hand to the side of his head, as he signs one word, _Stubborn._

Sett scoffs. “Ahh, ‘kay.” He nuzzles his neck with his nose and whispers in his ear, “I promise no more interruptions.”

With his back against the bed once again, Aphelios circle his hands behind Sett’s neck, but Sett’s faster this time and bends down to kiss him, before he can be drawn into it by him. Aphelios hums, content with the change of pace and Sett admits he’s happy with this role exchange.

The warmth in his chest is replaced by heat in an instant. In between their enthusiastic kisses, he tugs at Aphelios’ final piece of clothing with much more ease and tosses it somewhere without looking, probably joining the rest of the discarded wardrobe on the floor. Now, Aphelios’ body lays bare before him. His long legs wrap around his waist, snuggling him closer to him. Sett welcomes the proximity with a groan, grabbing his thighs and pulling Aphelios into his lap.

He takes his time dragging his hands on his skin. Traces the scars of his body, the ones that he hides beneath all he wears and relishes in the shivers of his skin. He isn’t as scrapped as Sett is, but it’s still shocking to find a deep, long scar that travels along his body. One around his waist, another on his back, a shiny pale blemish that looks like a burn.

He wonders if Aphelios can tell him all the stories behind them. Or has he forgotten, just like Sett has about his own?

His body isn’t as built either but his shoulders are just as wide, if only a few inches shorter. His arms can perfectly roam his body as they please, too. Aphelios aims for the kill and grasps both on their dicks between his hands and jerks them together in a single hold. Sett’s hips buckle on his grip, taking his hands back to Aphelios’ hips, moving them if only slightly, seeking some friction.

He gets just as hard as he was before with a few pumps and he squeezes his eyes shut, enjoying the sensation of Aphelios’ hand and his equally aroused dick pressing against his. Aphelios breaths are louder than his, or at least he hears them clearer than anything else. His ears flap towards the noises and he doesn’t pretend they don’t excite him.

“Hey.” He breathes hotly against Aphelios’ cheek and leaves his embrace to sit back up. He grabs Aphelios’ hard-working hands, and he lets go with a grumble. “My turn.”

The lube isn’t hard to find, he just looks inside one of the drawers he was searching in earlier. Like an act of magic, the bottle appears like it was trying to be found. Aphelios waits patiently under him, as Sett sits between his legs again, pressing a slick finger to his entrance. When he pushes it, it goes past without much restraint. And he hears it again, like music to his ears; as if Aphelios’ mouth is actually right next to him, the gasp and the breathy moan fill him with pride.

“Mm—this ain’t taking long, I guess,” he whispers as Aphelios covers his eyes in the crook of his elbow, while a red hot blush colors his face. His breaths get heavier as Sett’s one careful finger becomes two, his pace gets quicker and the fondling more experimental the more he opens up for him. Sett knows he’s doing a decent job when Aphelios’ legs move for him further apart. He grabs his thigh with an arm and pulls him upwards into his lap as he kneels back. Aphelios lays his waist on top of his bent legs with a soft exhale.

He wants him to feel the most comfortable, to have everything, he wants to unravel him under his hold. He likes pleasing his lovers, if he’s really into someone he’ll go out of his way for them. At this point, it’s no secret that he’s _extremely_ into this man and Aphelios deserves more than some mediocre prep work. He has to pay back for that remarkable blowjob he got before, too.

Does he like it from this side? Or this one? He presses the pads of his finger to his walls, he takes turns sliding them deeper and shallow. He reads the responses from his body with vigilant eyes, catching the moments he clenches around his fingers after a particular thrust, or when he bends his hips towards his hand. He repeats the motions he looks to enjoy the most, the faint trembles of his lips or a low whine are response enough when he’s done it _just_ right.

“You _like_ that, baby?” He says this, knowing he won't get an answer. He doesn’t need one, when Aphelios’ body is already speaking for him.

He’s having fun just teasing him like this. He pushes his fingers faster and wonders if he’ll get to put a third one in. His pace has left his entrance slick and greedy, pushing back with his hips as he could. The wet noise they make is obscene and Aphelios whimpers at the intrusion. He could _hear_ the urge in his whines to keep going and he looks at how they slip in so easily, imagining _something else_ replacing it. Sett makes a note of how Aphelios likes it—Oh, because he really _likes_ it—

A smack on the hand Sett’s holding his leg with brings his eyes back to his face. The flush travels all the way down his neck and his hands do some kind of sign, but Sett relentless pushes disturb its movements.

He opens his mouth, Sett’s eyes widen when his hoarse voice whispers—

_“That’s enough.”_ And the coughs that follow that sentence.

He has heard Aphelios speak only on very _rare_ occasions, it’s hard not to find him under the effect of the poison. It’s both a gift and a shot straight to his dick, knowing that he’s pushed him to the point he can’t repress his words no more. Even when it still hurts him to talk.

He gives out a last shove before taking out his fingers.

“Anythin’,” he says with a deep voice. “Anythin’ for you, sweetheart.”

It takes nothing to get his dick fully hard again, already aroused from just fingering him. He hopes—and knows for a fact—that he’ll continue to deliver that same pleasure. He slides the condom with practiced ease and in a moment of mindfulness, adds an extra drop of lube of to get himself even slicker. Aphelios’ eyebrows quiver as he feels the tip of it touching his opening. Sett pets his thighs with delicacy, raising his legs and placing them over his shoulders.

“Relax, pumpkin.” He massages the skin there, feeling the sweat that covers them. He can feel his own dampness sliding in the shape of drops along his skin. “You so wet and loose I could put two of my dicks in there.”

Aphelios tries not to laugh, but he fails. His quiet snickers go past the hand covering his mouth and straight to his heart. Watching him like this, like he’s full of so much _emotion,_ competes for most remarkable moments of the night.

“Will you stop makin’ fun of me,” he says with a smile as he drops a tender kiss on the inside of his leg. “I’m trying to get you in the mood, how ‘bout you collaborate?”

This only fuels his laughter and Sett joins him, knowing too well there aren’t any mean intentions there. He touches his legs again, drops his hands to his hips and feels the difference in his body—it’s relaxed and soft to the touch—and Aphelios becomes supple under his hands.

It’s not hard to guess that he doesn’t do this often with others as much as he likes doing it to himself. Sett isn’t an expert on the topic, but it’s rather obvious from the way he’s been acting ever since Sett barely suggested this. They’ve gone this far, though, Aphelios has exposed himself to him, a special right that most don’t get to bask in. He feels privileged to have his trust. He tries not to let it get to his head, oh, but it still does. A greedy compulsion that feeds off of watching him fall apart in the cradle of his arms. He will make sure Aphelios won’t regret entrusting this to him.

One of Sett’s hands supporting his leg dives down to stroke him instead. Aphelios sighs, shoulders loosening to the sensation and bringing back his breathy moans. When he hears one long groan, Sett slides in with a swift jerk, sheathing himself in Aphelios’ soft, welcoming walls.

He doesn’t know if the heavy sigh that fills the room belongs to him or Aphelios. He feels his hips coming to meet him, the back and forth of his body is shy; the position he’s in lets him move just as much, but Sett delivers with his own pace with steady thrusts and slow rhythm. Aphelios groans and throws his head back, rolling his hips in compass with Sett’s tempo.

Sett lowers his gaze and watches mesmerized, hypnotized by the view. It feels sinful to be touching Aphelios like this. His parted lips as he whines and his skin bright red where it used to be pale and cold. The heat of his ass clamping around him, the pleasure he claims like it belongs only to him.

The pace builds up with each thrust, shallow and fast. Aphelios tries angling his hips in a different direction, but the position of his legs don’t let him move much. He knows Aphelios is probably trying to look for the perfect way to grind back, looking for that _good_ spot. Sett knows better ways to handle that. He takes himself out despite hearing the angry groan beneath him. Sett doesn’t spare a glance to Aphelios’ scowl, just puts his legs down on the mattress and rolls him around.

“C’mere, on your knees,” he whispers, helping him raise his hips with a tug of his hand. Aphelios has barely lifted his body up with his arms when Sett’s pushing his dick back inside him with a hard thrust, getting a loud whine in response. “Like _this.”_

Aphelios nods, slick strands of hair stuck to his forehead. He bumps his hips back against Sett’s thrusts, the slapping of skin louder to Sett’s sensitive ears. His groans mix with Aphelios’ heavy breaths, if he listens closely he can hear the husky moans trapped in his throat.

He bows and presses their bodies together. Like this, the sweat coating Aphelios’ back blends with the one in his chest. He puts his hands on top of Aphelios’ and they weave their fingers together. It’s primal, the feeling that ignites his chest as he lays so close to him, seeking comfort in the shared touches. He kisses his right shoulder, then drags a wet lick on his earlobe and breathes the musky scent of his dampness. Aphelios whines and pushes back to the contact, encouraging him to continue.

“So good for me,” he says next to his ear, not entirely sure of what’s coming out of his mouth. “You’re making me crazy, Phel—so fuckin’ hot.” The response is instantaneous in the tremble of his hips and the sob he _tries_ hiding.

It’s not sudden, so he doesn’t notice when Aphelios begins _moaning_ . Sett takes special pleasure in hearing him, knowing this is all his doing. It only starts pushing him to his limit, but Sett means to make this night for Aphelios so unforgettable that he forgets every single past lovers he’s had, that he thinks of Sett every time he wants this. If there isn’t anything else that ties Aphelios to him—not his money, not his fame, not his power—then let it be _this._

He’d like to sit up and marvel at Aphelios’ body moving against his own, but the closeness between them is more addicting. The feel of their skin rubbing together, the smell of his sweat combined with the crisp shampoo scent on his hair. The heat that only grows with every slap; close like this, he can distinguish his voice clear as water.

It’s getting harder to hold it back.

“Mm—c’mon, baby.” He nuzzles the crook of his neck and Aphelios shivers to the touch. “C’mon, c’mon…”

Aphelios shakes his head to his words and grips their hands together a little harder. He clears his throat and turns his head to a side, just slightly, to talk. His voice is still harsh and almost inaudible. _“No, you—”_

Sett snarls. “Don’t you _dare_ argue with me,” he says, accompanying that with a hard thrust to emphasize his point. Aphelios whines quietly in response. “I’m already on the edge, sweetheart, lemme treat you first.”

He hears a sigh and Aphelios’ scarlet face turns fully to give him a small smile. _“Alright, Boss.”_

Sett groans when those words slip out from him that way—he’s never heard him address him like that—and it does things to his head. Envigored to go faster as Aphelios drops to his forearms, he stands back and slides his hands across Aphelios’ back, tracing the dips of his muscles, the bumps of his spine and feels the shivering of his skin at the touch. Sett’s gaze goes hungrier when Aphelios slides his knees further apart from each other raising up his ass to him.

With his back arched like that, with the way he opens up to take him and the sound of his wrecked voice, Sett feels like he’s eating from a forbidden fruit. He doesn’t deserve to see, _to feel,_ but he does anyway; he feasts on it like it’s his last meal. He watches in awe all of Aphelios’ little cues, the shaking of his arms; the blush that spreads across his skin; the swing of his waist like he’s performing a dance just for him. Hears the grunt going along with the shove of his hips with a stronger push.

Sett reads him like the palm of his hand and guesses he can indulge him—he could never say no—and adjusts his grip to thrust a tad harder. His ears perk up at the pleased sigh that escapes Aphelios’ mouth, a noise so tiny even _he_ has a hard time listening to. There’s something else, a pleading that against the scratch of his throat is barely heard, but Sett hears it anyway—

_“Don’t stop.”_ And Sett squeezes his hips tenderly, thinking that the moon could be falling but he wouldn’t dare to neglect any of Aphelios’ orders.

Aphelios lets out a huff of laughter, and Sett wonders if he said that out loud or Aphelios just read his mind.

The bed creaks, the sheets are an absolute mess beneath them. Sett whines to the inhuman effort to keep pounding as hard as Aphelios wants, his whimpers and groans going louder with the seconds. There’s a rumble in his chest, an animalistic growl of impatience. He feels Aphelios’ own desperation as he chases it, the rocking of his hips is erratic and uneven; too quick, too short. The walls around him clamp hungrily as Aphelios lets out a deep, husky sob.

He hears the whisper of his name like a prayer. A begging whine, _“Sett—”_ It fills his ears and they become his entire world for that moment in time.

Aphelios throws his head back, trying to balance the weight of his body in one arm. It’s only then he notices he’s been touching himself—for how long, he doesn’t know—and Sett hates himself for not doing it for him before. He bends down, pressing an apologetic kiss to his shoulder, before _finally_ letting go. His thrusts get as deep as possible, and he licks at the nape of his neck as something possessive yells in his head in pleasure: _mine, mine, mine,_ and he bites softly at the skin there; Aphelios’ shoulders jolt at the assault, but he doesn’t shy away from it. It does it for him and he finishes with a last hard pump inside him. 

His ears are flat along his head as he rides it out, his canines at the verge of digging into the soft of his skin, but Sett would rather _die_ than to ever hurt him. Coming down helps him think clearer, his tongue replacing his teeth to lick the shallow mark he’s left on his neck. Aphelios sighs to the touch, the strain leaves his body in slow waves and his arms give out under him. Sett separates their bodies—he misses the heat and the warmth, yet again—and nudges Aphelios down to the bed on a dry spot between the pillows.

He becomes pliant under Sett’s hold, letting him manhandle him as he leaves butterfly kisses along his jaw and massage his sides. Aphelios’ fingers thread his hair, scraping his scalp gingerly and padding shyly the base of his ears; they tickle where he touches and a giggle goes past his lips.

He looks at the white drops on Aphelios’ stomach, he wipes one of them on a finger and takes a curious lick.

He scrunches his nose at the taste. “Ugh—yeah, this is still fuckin’ gross.”

Aphelios laughs as he watches him.

“How do you like this?” he asks, cleaning his finger somewhere in the sheets.

Aphelios frowns and with one hand he signs, _I never—_ and something else. Sett frowns.

“That one’s new.” He tries doing the motion himself with his own hand. “What’s that?”

Aphelios closes his eyes, sighing. _“Swallow,”_ he replies, unable to stop the coughs.

“Ahh, really?” and Sett pouts while Aphelios corrects the position of his fingers as he practices the sign, “Never ever? Not even for me?”

Aphelios lifts an eyebrow. _What’s in it for me?_

Sett’s chuckles roar deeply in his throat. “You tryna’ say there’s something _I_ can’t give you?”

_Is there?_ he signs and smiles again. _How about your pit? I will be the boss now._

“What, that’s _it_?” Sett scoffs. “It’s a deal, sweetheart, you better lick it clean.”

Aphelios laughs despite the gruffness of his throat. He signs something along the lines of ‘regret’ and ‘nevermind’. Sett leaves a kiss at the edge of his smiling lips and tickles his chest. Aphelios squirms in his grasp, pushing Sett’s face away from him as he keeps laughing.

Now that both of them have calmed down, he sits up. Aphelios’ breathing has gone back to normal and he takes sluggish blinks between breaths. Something that Aphelios mentioned hits Sett like a slap to the face, remembering that he’d said he’d been tired earlier tonight.

_Shit,_ what has he done to him?

“Phel,” he murmurs, getting a slow turn of his head in response. “You doing okay?”

Aphelios smiles. His right hand flies to Sett’s cheek and his weak fingers pad tenderly at his face. With his other hand he signs, _Yes._

His dopey eyes travel down to his chest, his hand goes from his face to press a finger on a spot on his ribs. Sett hisses at a stinging pain that blooms there. Maybe that kick _did_ hurt a little.

_Are you okay?_ he asks with heartbroken eyes, _Sorry for hitting you._

“Don’t be dumb, I’m fine.” Sett lets out a long exhale, putting Aphelios’ hand off his bruise and placing it back on his lap. Aphelios still looks at him concerned. “I’ve had worse, you _know_ that.”

_I will kiss it better,_ he signs, his eyelids blinking slower each time.

Sett’s heart swells. He smiles and he feels himself falling deep, _deep._ “Tomorrow when it’s purple and nasty, don’t forget.”

Aphelios shakes his head. Eyes closed.

He gives him a chaste peck on his lips as gratitude. “I’ll—uh—fix stuff up, don’t worry.”

With the stamina of a proper young man, he steps off the bed and does as he promised: he kicks the clothes out of the way to the bathroom, grabs some random towels, cleans himself and their mess off the sheets with one hard swoop and drops them along the rest of the fallen pillows and wrinkling robes. An absolute lazy effort but that’s why he pays people to clean, so they might as well do their damn job. A thunder paints the room white for a second and Sett remembers it's been raining the entire night. But it isn’t chilly, a warm shock travels up his spine as if to remind him. 

When he returns to the bed Aphelios lies on his side, clutching a blanket around his body.

“Man, you gotta clean up,” Sett tells him, sitting at the edge of the bed where Aphelios seems to be falling asleep in. “I’m the gross one and even _I_ wanna take a bath.”

Aphelios groans—and not in the fun way—while he pouts and shakes his head, eyes still closed.

Sett takes the blanket off him and he whines, flailing his arms trying to snatch it back. “C’mon I’ll carry you.”

After that Aphelios doesn’t complain again.

He lets him sleep against his chest as they sit on the tub. The temperature of the water is perfectly warm and the soft breaths of the man sleeping under him almost lull him to sleep, too. He would’ve joined Aphelios in his nap, but he was busier nuzzling his hair, feeling his arms around him and listening to the sound of the rain. Aphelios shifts in his hold with a sigh.

Sett kisses his cheek. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

* * *

Aphelios wakes twice during the night.

The first time is when Sett’s pulling him out of the water. He hears him whispering against his ear. He remembers he makes him stand up while putting a silky towel around his body. He can feel his hands rubbing him dry with it, and Aphelios helps him with clumsy hands.

After he carries him back to the bed, he falls asleep as soon as his head touches the pillows. He remembers he could still hear the rain. He hopes it rains all day tomorrow, too, just as he feels Sett cuddle behind him. If tomorrow’s weather is just as bad, he won’t have a choice but to stay, right?

The second time it’s right before morning. He doesn’t feel particularly sore but there’s an uncomfortable pain in his legs, especially around his thighs. He doesn’t think too much of it, because he knows that by the time he drinks the poison again, all that will be gone.

He stares at the ceiling, fully aware there isn’t a single raindrop falling from the sky anymore. He closes his eyes and tells himself it’s still too dark to leave. Had his sister heard him, she would be wheezing with laughter. Because it’s definitely not about the _comfiest_ bed he’s ever sleeped in, or the warm blankets or the company to his side.

He caresses the arm across his chest, knowing its owner is fast asleep next to him. Like this, the muscles that are otherwise hard and tense are loose and relaxed. Not any smaller, but it’s easier to feel the terseness of Sett’s skin and to distinguish the scars that mar it.

Aphelios lets out a long, heavy sigh. He never expected to encounter Sett in the tavern. He had been traveling for days on end, with little food and sleep. He wandered through the streets, thinking that Sett would send him away if he wasn’t in fighting shape. He ate two plates of some cheap, oily meal he scavenged on some shady restaurant and that was a third of his savings.

When he was too tired to walk anywhere else, he stumbled in the first place he saw a cheap room. If he bought a drink, he’d get half the price. So he asked for the cheapest thing. Before Sett arrived and with Alune gone, he was considering just passing out in that chair.

The Moon had other plans for him that night and sent him an angel. How could he refuse Sett’s alluring smile when he _begged_ him to stay here?

This bed feels like it has taken all his fatigue away. Aphelios lets himself sink in the soft, luxurious sheets as his hands play with the thin hair in Sett’s forearms. The secrecy of this moment makes him happy, _fortunate._ The most blessed the Moon has made him feel in so long. It’s like the world has stopped just for him to enjoy this, that nobody is awake to witness this self-indulgent moment and judge him into his responsibilities. There is no pain in his throat, no Alune trapped in the spirit realm, no war. A time for himself, free of the weight of his destiny.

He opens his eyes, turning to his right side and looking at Sett’s sprawled body. He sleeps like an only child ever would. His legs occupy most of the bed as he lays down on his stomach, pressing his cheek to the pillow. His ears twitch for milliseconds much to Aphelios’ liking. Last night, he remembers the way they flickered. How expressive they seemed to be.

How they flap in the opposite direction when someone behind speaks particularly loud, turning to noises out of his view. They move towards the angle of Aphelios’ voice, even when he’s not looking at him. When he laughs, they perk up; when he’s embarrassed, one of them lays flat while the other looks in a different direction; when he moans, they both flatten down along his hair.

It’s so endearing he doesn’t have the will to comment on it, fearing that it’ll make him self-conscious and he’ll stop doing it altogether.

He turns around beneath the grasp that holds him, laying on his side instead. He touches his hair with careful hands. The feel of it is familiar now, thick between his fingers. He holds a laugh when he sees strands of hair falling down in clumps. He said nothing about it the first time he saw it, how it worried him that Sett seemed to lose hair like he was going bald. But then again, he was covered in hair _everywhere._ With this short proximity, he could even see the baby red hairs that cover his face. They become thicker and darker the closer they get to his hairline or his jaw.

He wonders if his clothes are going to end up full of hair like he just carried a cat in his arms.

He touches the stubble and the hairs are thicker there, enough that he can’t help scratching it. He earns a pleased hum that scares him into pulling his hand away, but Sett’s still fast asleep.

Aphelios laughs through his nose and takes a hand back to his hair. He scratches softly at the scalp, Sett’s body reacting instinctively. He hums in his sleep and speaks garbled words he can’t make out. His hand travels down to his cheek with the same care, the darkness of the room is dissipating, replaced by a low, blue hue of the earliest of the morning. He can feel the scars underneath his fingers like this; there’s a tiny one under his eye and another one across his cheek.

His ears flicker again and he shifts his head to his touch.

His chest hurts with longing. He feels tears prickle at his eyes. He has forgotten how some feelings _feel_ ever since he became a devoted servant of the Moon. Ever since he drinks the noctum poison so religiously. When he remembers the way he’s been acting since last night—Oh, sweet Goddess, _last night—_ he realizes how numb he’s truly become.

His emotions felt unhinged, out of control. Everything was intense and _raw_ like he’s been brought into a parallel world as soon as he left that filthy tavern holding Sett’s hand. He doesn’t remember the last time he laughed. He doesn’t remember the last time he cried. When he feels the longing turn into something painful and bitter in his chest, he doesn’t know exactly what it is. It feels like sadness. He doesn’t know the exact cause, but he knows it feels the strongest when he sees Sett’s face. Just like this. Like nothing will ever disturb this moment.

His heart is grasping at the edges of something—what is it, he doesn’t know either—but it wants it. There’s another feeling, one that he’s become familiar with, whispering in his head: whatever his heart is seeking will never be at his reach, it’ll be clawing at the empty sky forever. His love for this man is as impossible as shadow existing without light.

It doesn’t stop it from trying.

When the light turns the slightless of yellow he knows he has to leave. With a broken heart and wet cheeks, he bids off the taste of heaven.

He silently gets out of Sett’s embrace. He’s still naked as he steps off the bed and the cold chills his skin. He shivers and considers going back to bed just for five more minutes, or maybe for a few more hours and wake Sett up with a massage along his back, as a way to thank him for everything he did for him before going to sleep.

Aphelios’ resolve is still hard-steel so he stands and walks to the bathroom, tiptoeing around the clothes and grabbing his own stuff as he does so. He washes his face before dressing again, trying to kick the sleep away from his eyes.

As he steps into the bedroom again, the yellow gaps of sunlight that sneak through the curtains bathes Sett’s frame. He looks absolutely breathtaking underneath it. When he looks away the image stays printed behind his eyelids.

He picks up the towels and Sett’s clothes, folding them neatly and putting them on the empty side of the bed. The towels he hangs them in the bathroom, he picks up the pillows and tries organizing them as he thinks they looked last night. He does a double take of his own appearance in the dresser’s mirror, gasping loudly at the purple mark on the far side of his neck.

He turns around and sees clearly, the clear shape of teeth.

He can’t help blushing at the thought of it. Of how it happened, _when_ it happened.

He shakes his head in disapproval and buttons up his shirt all the way to his neck. It’s uncomfortable but it’s better than sporting a love bruise, especially on his pale skin that made it all the more evident.

“Sneakin’ out?” says Sett’s voice all the way from the bed. Aphelios meets his gaze across the mirror. 

His hearts burst into a rapid beating at the sight of the man, groggy from sleep. He’s still laying on his stomach, clutching the pillow below his head.

“What are you tryna’ do, love, break my heart?” He slurs the words out, but they dig at Aphelios’ heart with a strong jab. “I’m gonna feel like you just used me for real.” He smiles, but it lacks the playfulness of all the others he’s seen from him.

The real funny thing here is that Aphelios thought _he_ was the one being used here. Wasn’t he just one more name in Sett’s long list of lovers?

He turns around and meets Sett’s eyes again as he calls him with one of his hands. “Stay ‘til breakfast, Phel, I’ll make ya’ one of my ma’s best recipes, the best one ever, _ever.”_ His ears twitch again like they’re stretching and he pats the spot next to him. Aphelios’ heart sinks when he rejects his offer with a shake of his head and his ears lay flat along his head.

“Can’t stay,” he says. The tone of his voice is completely normal, being so far long since the potion’s last use. He steps away from the bed and picks up his travel bag, checking its contents. “Thank you for your hospitality,” he says almost mechanically, channeling his inner Alune and reciting some ordinary and polite farewells.

Sett laughs. “Yeah, my hospitality clearly did the trick there.”

Aphelios smiles as he keeps rummaging through his stuff. He sees the vials of poison sitting in the bottom of his bag and his smile disappears. He planned on taking it before leaving the house, but Sett doesn’t have to behold something so horrible.

He looks back at Sett one last time and sees him practically begging him with his eyes. Again. _Stay,_ like he wants nothing else in the world right now. He’s no fool to those looks and Aphelios tells himself that it’s not as good as it looks like.

Sett just found a new toy. Their lives are so different, their cultures so apart, there is no way Sett wants what Aphelios _wants._ Right now, without the restraint of the poison he can feel it clearly, the yearning of being in his arms. Of waking up every morning next to him, of his smile belonging only to him. For that to happen, Sett would have to give up the lifestyle he adores so much and Aphelios would need to be free of his moon-warrior duties. And even then, if he’s ever released of this torture, Sett would laugh at his face at the mere _thought_ of renouncing to what he has built.

The kind of world he likes living under, though, he can’t understand. Aphelios dreams of the day he’ll leave behind all of what he’s become. Of an ordinary life. Of having his sister back in the real world. When they can both turn their backs to all the killing they’ve done in the name of their people; he can just lay under the night sky, count the stars and smell the clean breeze of the wind.

Whenever that happens— _if_ that ever happens, he knows Sett won’t follow him there.

A scrubbed name that he’ll forget with someone else.

So he’d rather play the fool, because it’s easier than playing his heart and waiting for it to break.

“Should’ve ripped those pants,” Sett says with a quiet voice, but it still reaches Aphelios’ ears.

Aphelios looks at him, incredulous. Did he hear that right—

“Alright, if you ever miss me too much you know where to find me.” A wink and Aphelios blushes at the thought, he nods quickly and turns around in his heel. Did their love making squeezed him out of confidence juice? “Also…”

Aphelios stops, a nervous swallow down his throat.

“When you need somethin’—anythin’—just come to me, yeah?” He looks tired but his eyes are aflame with hope. “You get the special treatment, for bein’ such an angel for me.”

Aphelios smiles despite his reluctance. “You don’t make it hard.”

Sett’s ears perk straight up so fast it’s funny. Aphelios doesn’t know if he turns his body around fast enough so Sett can’t see the blush that covers his cheeks and the tremble of his eyebrows. Perhaps some _feelings_ are better left buried.

“You ain’t forgetting anything?” he asks. The tone in his voice is odd but Aphelios can’t keep finding excuses to stay.

“Don’t think so,” he says, sliding the doors open in a woosh. “Thank you, again.”

He walks out of the room in silence and fetches his shoes from the entrance, he’s about to walk out but remembers there’s people outside guarding the doors. He sighs, knowing it would be mortifying to walk the entire front yard under the scrutiny of Sett’s lackeys. He runs his hands across his face and takes off his shoes again to step out of the genkan. He's not going to disrespect Sett's home just because he's in a hurry.

He walks all the way around looking for a back-door. He puts his shoes _again_ before stepping out. The chill of the morning bite at his nose, he shudders. He looks around and to his luck, there isn’t anybody on this side of the estate.

His hands grab the vial and he looks at it, unsure if to drink it. He keeps it in his hand longer than he means to. It scares him, being this the first time he’s ever hesitated to take the potion.

It doesn’t matter.

He has to.

So he drinks it and for a second he pretends he’s back at the tavern. The burn down his throat is just another shot of sake. The pain in his chest is just the beating of his heart at the sight of another of Sett’s beautiful smiles. The squeeze around his body is just another tight hug, the heat in his mouth is because of a kiss.

The pain isn’t more bearable, but it’s nice to dream.

_“Brother,”_ The sweet voice of his sister makes the empty void in his chest a lot less agonizing. _“Are you having a good morning? What’s it like today?”_

She asks this as she does every time they meet again. Aphelios cleans the tears fresh of his face with a confused expression, knowing he’s lost something, _forgot_ something—what was it, why is he crying?

_“Phel?”_ she asks, worry in her tone.

Aphelios blinks touching his chest. Well, if he forgot about it, it must’ve been something unimportant.

The Ionian mornings are always the most beautiful, but today the clouds are grey and it colors the world without much vibrance. The wind is cold and he wants to be somewhere warm. The grass is still wet from last night’s rain. He tells her this, and she sighs dreamily, as she always does when he tells her of anything about the world outside. A cold droplet touches his cheek and he looks up, concerned about another storm falling down.

He’s just about to leave and just _minutes_ ago it was the sun creeping inside the house. Does he have such bad luck?

He stands up and jumps the wall with skillful grace, landing perfectly on the street outside.

He feels a tug on his chest. A leading mark that wants to take him somewhere, it’s got a _feeling_ hooked up to it. Like a knee-jerk reaction telling him he’s going the wrong way. His head ignores it easily and he continues down the way he knows he must go.

The rain gets heavier. A thunder roars and it shakes something in his chest.

_“Oh, Phel,”_ her sister whispers, concerned. _“The Sun cries today, can you feel it?”_

He looks at the sky and wonders, what is it mourning?

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading y'all.
> 
> the title is part of the lyrics of Do I Wanna Know by the Arctic Monkeys--that I think fits this story perfectly, mostly from Sett's perspective. A little cliché, i know!!
> 
> **edit:** Huge thanks to [@SixStarMoon](https://twitter.com/SixStarMoon) on twitter for making [this wonderful piece of art](https://twitter.com/SixStarMoon/status/1260414944249511938) inspired on this fic.


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